Tempt Me at Twilight (The Hathaways, #3)

by Lisa Kleypas

It was difficult to ascertain his age—he appeared to be on the early side of his thirties, but there was an air of hard-bitten worldliness about him, a sense that he had seen enough of life to cease being surprised by anything. He had heavy, well-cut hair, black as midnight, and a fair complexion with dark brows that stood out in striking contrast. He was as handsome as Lucifer, his features straight and defined, the mouth brooding. But he looked like a man who perhaps took everything—including himself—a bit too seriously.

“Do you always ask such personal questions of people you’ve just met?” Poppy asked in amazement. “Not always. But I find you . . . interesting.”

Harry didn’t want her to stop. He found everything about her endlessly interesting, although he couldn’t explain why. She simply was.

“I could listen to you all day.”

She was worth anything, he thought, even giving up the last remnants of his soul.

Fortunately in matters of love, most women can be persuaded to choose a bad man over a good one.”

“Why?” she asked faintly, without thinking. “Why what?” “Why did you ask me to dance?” Harry hesitated as if torn between the necessity of tact and the inclination toward honesty. He settled on the latter. “Because I wanted to hold you.”

“You were courted by a boy, who had to do as he was told.” His hot breath feathered against her lips as he whispered, “You should try it with a man, who needs no one’s permission.”

“You should never cry over a man,” he said against her cheek. His voice was soft, dark, like smoked honey. “No one is worth your tears.”

“I should give you a set-down . . . slap you or something . . . what is the usual response from ladies you’ve taken liberties with?” “They encourage me to do it again?”

“I’m everything they told you and worse,” Harry said without hesitation. “But what they didn’t tell you is that you are the most desirable and fascinating woman I’ve ever met, and I would do anything to have you.”

Harry seemed stunned that she could see through him so easily. Instead of being annoyed, however, he stared at her with stark longing. “Poppy, I have to have you.”

Poppy gave him an odd look. “Is there anything the matter?” Nothing. Except that watching his wife eating breakfast was the most erotic act he had ever seen.

That mystifying feeling again . . . the sense of puzzle pieces fitting together. Such an innocent connection, one hand in another, and yet it was enormously satisfying.

He was sick with need, half mad with it. But he didn’t want Poppy to accept him out of duty. He wanted her willing.

And somewhere in the depths of his soul, a fracture began as he experienced something entirely new . . . the desire to please another person.

Harry tore off the rest of his clothing and lowered himself over her. “Touch me,” he was mortified to hear himself rasp . . . something he had never asked of anyone before. “Please.”

“Yes,” Harry whispered, letting his hot breath fill the shell of her ear. “Yes. When I’m inside you, this is how you move. Show me what you want, and I’ll give it to you, as much as you need, as long as you want . . . ”

He would never regret having done what was necessary to marry her, because she was what he had wanted most in his life.

Poppy was there. The knowledge spurred him, made him desperate to reach her. It was more than desperation. Losing Poppy was the one thing he couldn’t recover from, and knowing that made him feel fearful and furious and caged. The feelings catalyzed into one impetus: He would not be kept apart from her.

I want you because there’s no one else like you, and I don’t ever want to start a day without seeing you.”

“I’m sorry I’m not the husband you wanted.” His voice turned gravelly. “But I swear on my life, if you’ll tell me what you need, I’ll listen. I’ll do anything you ask. Just don’t leave me again.”

“I love kissing you,” he murmured. “It was the worst punishment you could have devised, not letting me do this.”

“I’m going to make love to you all night, Poppy. And the first time, you’re going to feel very safe. But the second time, I’m going to be a little bit wicked . . . and you’ll like that even more. And the third time . . .” He paused with a smile as he heard her breath catch. “The third time, I’m going to do things that will mortify you when you remember them tomorrow.” He kissed her gently. “And you’ll love that most of all.”

“You fascinate me in every way,” Harry whispered, his hand playing gently in her hair. “There are mysteries in your soul that will take a lifetime to uncover . . . and I want to know every one of them.”

It was finally becoming clear to her that love wasn’t about finding someone perfect to marry. Love was about seeing through to the truth of a person, and accepting all their shades of light and dark. Love was an ability. And Harry had it in abundance, even if he wasn’t ready to come to terms with it yet.

“I love you, Poppy,” he said raggedly. “I love you so much that it’s absolute hell.”

“I have so much love for you, I could fill rooms with it. Buildings. You’re surrounded by it wherever you go, you walk through it, breathe it . . . it’s in your lungs, and under your tongue, and between your fingers and toes . . . ”

I can’t think of a single day of my life that wouldn’t have been improved with you in it.”